Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  When the first piece ended, Stani did look her way, touching the bow to his forehead in a salute. What passed between them, John thought, was too intimate, too intensely personal, to watch. He was glad she was seated away from the others, particularly Milo. He felt a keen desire to protect the two of them, shield them from anyone who might not understand what they shared. Shaking himself from his own observation of them, he grimaced inwardly. He was getting to be such an old woman. He'd never been in the middle of so much romance, and it was clearly playing havoc with his imagination.

  At the conclusion of the program, as the audience rose in appreciation, the musicians returned to their places. The crowd grew quiet, and John thought Emily seemed especially eager, poised on the edge of her chair.

  With a very pointed glance in her direction, Stani played the opening measures of the encore, the others joining in turn. It was the music Stani had composed, John knew, something just for Emily, something personal and significant to their relationship. As he watched her profile, waiting for her reaction, he was not disappointed. Though she was again smiling ecstatically, there were tears sliding unheeded down her face as she folded her hands over the locket. Whatever had prompted Stani to give her this gift, John felt certain he would be duly rewarded.

  As the piece ended, the players rose, bowed to the audience, and then turning, all four bowed in Emily's direction. She stood, applauding, the shawl draping gracefully from her outstretched arms as she extended an embrace that included them all. Again, John was struck with how easily this girl would fit into Stani's world. She might consider herself a farm girl from some remote valley, but she had all the elegance and charm to move naturally among the assortment of cultures and personalities that populated Stani's international workplace. And he felt sure those people would embrace her, recognizing her unique gifts as surely as they did his.

  John turned her over to Stani as soon as the crowd around him began to thin. In spite of his beaming smile as she went into the circle of his arm, John could see the strain in his eyes. It was there at the end of every concert now no matter how satisfied he might be with his performance. Taking the violin from his hand, he said with a grin, “I'll replace one priceless treasure with another.”

  Stani grimaced, even as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Emily, his eyes never leaving hers. “She turns peasants into poets, John. Take care she doesn't expose you for the hopeless romantic you really are.”

  They made their way down the stairs to join the others at the buffet. Peg would insist on his greeting her guests, but John knew Stani would be anxious to leave as soon as possible. The tension in his jaw and the way he clenched his fingers told that he was in need of rest.

  Just as they reached the foot of the stairs, where Stani was accosted by a group of bejeweled, white-haired ladies who had been eagerly awaiting his arrival, Emily turned to John. “Could you find Robert and ask him to have the car at the door in fifteen minutes? I think we'll be ready to leave by then, don't you?”

  He should have guessed she would instinctively understand what was needed. “You do catch on quickly, girl. I'll see to it.”

  John let them go up to the suite alone, as he took the violin to his room and placed it in the safe. He changed his clothes, had a cup of tea, before going upstairs. At his knock, Emily called for him to come in. The sight that met his astonished eyes caused him to halt just inside the doorway, wondering if he shouldn’t turn and leave immediately. Stani, stripped to his trousers, sat straddling a chair, his arms folded over the back, while Emily stood behind him, his discarded shirt tied over her dress like an apron. The noxious fumes of liniment filled the air, as she worked her hands over his shoulders, an expression of tender concentration on her face. With drooping lids, Stani looked up to greet him.

  “Ah, John. It seems you've been replaced, at least for tonight.” He sighed contentedly.

  “Yes, well, then. I'll be going.” John backed toward the door, his face reddening.

  “No, please John, don't go. I want to give you some pointers while we have him in this condition.” She ignored his chuckle and reached out to him. “Come here, give me your hand.” He obliged, letting her guide his fingers across the knotted muscles, and press them over the spongy swelling of fluid at the joint. She demonstrated methods to work out the tightness, gave him instructions on technique and pressure. “Hold the ice here, just so, but only for twenty minutes. Then a warm shower, Stani.” A moan was the only response. “If you can do these things, John, religiously, he might just make it through this tour.”

  “Or you could come with us. Stani, lad, can't you persuade her to come with us? We'll put her on the payroll, private nurse or some such thing.”

  “I've tried, John, believe me. The cabbages won out.” Stani pulled his shirt from around her waist and struggled to put it on. With a little sigh, Emily held it for him, all the while frowning down at him.

  “You're ganging up on me. Not at all fair. You're in good hands with John. You've managed without me this long. A few more months won't hurt. Now, John, tell him you can do just as good a job as I can.” She fastened a few of the buttons, fussing with the collar as she talked.

  “I can't lie to him, girl. He never purrs like that when I rub him down. All I can do is my best.”

  He left them, chuckling to himself at the apparently never-ending facets of this new relationship. Stani was showing remarkable self-control, but he wondered if that shower might not be a cold one tonight.

  Emily sent Stani off to shower, phoned room service, and raced down to her rooms to change. On the way back up, she endured the indulgent little smile of the elevator boy, who by now, she thought, should know she had no shame about the way she came and went at all hours. She bid him a cheery goodnight as she dashed off at Stani's floor in time to catch the waiter wheeling their meal from the service elevator. “I'll take that, thank you.” She signed the check and let herself in with Stani's key.

  Wrapped in a black silk robe, he was just coming from the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel. When he caught sight of the cart, he tossed back his head and laughed. “Hungry, are we?”

  “Of course. You should always eat after a performance. That's hard work, sawing away at those strings. Now sit down. I'll be your waitress tonight. You've been serving me all week.” She poured tea, buttered toast and set a plate of steak and eggs before him.

  “Breakfast, Emily?”

  “Breakfast, Stani.” Sitting across from him as he ate, she studied his face. He was relaxed now, the pained look almost completely gone. Sipping her tea, she stated matter-of-factly, “You know, if I weren't already so much in love, I would have fallen hard tonight.”

  He grimaced. “Don't tell me, the dark, brooding cello. Those blasted Russians get all the girls.”

  “No, silly, the little red-haired violin. The way he moved, the way he made love to that instrument, as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world, I couldn't take my eyes off him.” She rested her chin on one hand, her eyes on a level with his. “I'd love for a man to handle me that way.”

  Stani grinned, his color high. “I can see I'm going to be forced send you to your room. You've plied me with words of love and the touch of your magic fingers. Now breakfast? I begin to think your intentions are less than honorable, ma'am.” He threw down his napkin and got to his feet, pulling her into his arms. “You are the most provoking, not to say provocative, girl I know. For much, I'd give up the bloody violin and take up farming, just so I could see your face across my table every morning, noon and night. A simple life, in the valley of love and delight? Is that what you would offer me?”

  “Oh, yes. But you can keep your violin. There's room for both of us, I'm sure. Did I thank you properly for the beautiful gift?”

  “No, I'm sure you didn't.” His lips closed over hers just as she was about to speak, and it was some time before she tried again.

  “I suppose you should sleep in your bed tonight, tired as you are.” She tw
isted a strand of his damp hair into a curl around her finger, avoiding his eyes.

  “I promise I'll be down first thing in the morning. It was wonderful, seeing your face in the audience. I'll take that memory to comfort me on my lonely trek across the barren wastelands of Europe.” Walking her slowly across the room, he opened the door. “Little red-haired violin, indeed!” Laughing, he shoved her gently into the hallway and firmly closed the door.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  By Sunday afternoon, they were both working hard to avoid the obvious. They had been to Radio City Music Hall on Saturday afternoon to see the Rockettes, eaten dinner at Tavern on the Green, and on Sunday morning they had walked to church together. The day was raw, with a threat of snow in the air, and they had gladly returned to the warmth of the hotel for lunch. Now, with the stack of newspapers John had brought to Stani's suite, they stretched on the carpet in front of the fire and laughed over the number of lines and photographs their days on the town had generated.

  Emily was particularly amazed at the use of words like mysterious and exotic. One columnist hinted that Stani had met his companion on a brief trip he'd made to Italy the past summer. Another suggested that she was someone he had known years earlier, a love affair from his first European tour. She sat cross-legged on the floor, shuffling through the various papers with a frown on her face. “Where do they get these ridiculous ideas? Don't I look like an American? Why do you have to be linked with some foreign mystery woman?”

  “Because the truth would be too simple. And you are the one who doesn't want anyone to know you dragged me out of that storm, remember. Better let them think I lured you here from someplace more exotic than your little valley. It'll keep them off your trail.” Stani pushed aside the disorderly pile and stretched on his back, folding one arm behind his head. “And that won't be any small accomplishment. Now that they're curious, they'll be wanting more. I'll get questions at every interview, I can guarantee. How would you like to be explained? My long-lost cousin from Wales or maybe some relative of Milo's from Budapest? I know, you're that girl who assaulted me at a party in Des Moines, come to blackmail me with compromising photographs. I've been showing you a good time in hopes you'll go away quietly. See, there’s any number of explanations for that adoring look on my face in every one of these pictures.”

  Emily stretched on her side next to him. “I guess we do look as if we like each other. The one of us in Central Park, getting out of the carriage, is really quite romantic. What will you say if you're asked?”

  “I'd like to say that you're the woman I love, the woman I'm going to marry. But I'll probably say we're just friends. Let them speculate a while longer. Privacy is not something they respect, and I can't protect you while I'm on tour. I'll try to use some of Milo's methods, I guess. Give a little but not too much. Now let's talk about something pleasant, like what we're going to do when I'm home again.”

  With a sigh, she rested her head on his chest. “What will we do when you're home again?”

  “I think I'll take some time off, maybe the month of June, and go to a little town somewhere in the hills. I hear they have a very pleasant guesthouse there, the perfect retreat for a weary concert artist. Then I’ll try to get work on a farm, maybe find a nice lady who needs a good strong lad to help out about the place. If I play my cards right, maybe she'll like me well enough to keep me on in spite of my total ineptitude. And then I'm going to sweep her off her feet with my old-world charm, and carry her off into the sunset, slung across the saddle of my charger.”

  “Banners flying, trumpets blaring?”

  “Ah yes, that too. How does that sound?” He snugged her closer, nuzzling her hair.

  “A whole month? It's going to take a month for you to sweep her off her feet? She must be some tough lady.”

  “Tough, strong, single-minded and utterly adorable. It won't take a month, but I intend to enjoy every minute of the sweeping and slinging across my saddle process. Plus, there are people there I want to get to know, foreigner that I am. If I intend to take up residence in that little town, I'll need to ingratiate myself to the lady's friends and neighbors.” He felt her stiffen, her head coming up to stare into his eyes.

  “What are you saying?'

  “I'm simply saying that if that's where you live, that's where I'll live. If you'll have me, of course. We certainly can't commute back and forth once we're married. We need a home, and since you already have one and we both love it so much, why not just stick with what we have?”

  She sat up, braced on one arm, her wide eyes searching. Her hair fell over one shoulder in a heavy curtain, and he lifted it away from her face as he smiled up at her.

  “Of course, after the children come along, we'll need more than a hotel suite for the times when we come to New York for their father to do a bit of work now and then. I thought we might find a nice brownstone, with a little patch of garden at the rear. How does that sound? Can you manage two households?”

  Her eyes sparkling now, she smiled, that mystical upturn he loved. “Children, Stani?'

  “Children, Emily. As many as you like. All with dark hair like their mother.” He sifted the soft lengths between his fingers.

  “You have this all planned, I see.”

  “Subject to your approval, of course. This is just my first draft.”

  “Oh, it sounds heavenly. Except for one thing.” She lay back beside him, her head over his heart.

  “Yes?” He closed his eyes, sighing in complete contentment.

  “All with red hair like their father.”

  Next in the Miracle at Valley Rise Series

  Entreat Me Not

  Chapter One

  The house seemed small and still and for the first time in her life, being alone made Emily uncomfortable. After New York’s never-ending bustle of traffic and noise, the heretofore welcome silence of home was stunning. More than once, she found herself staring out the windows, longing for something other than a bird or squirrel to move across the dead winter lawn. Always a haven filled with more than enough to keep her busy, the house had become a series of empty rooms waiting for something to happen. Haunted rooms, at that, where at every turn she encountered Stani’s tenderly smiling ghost.

  Flashes of fantasy erupted even as she forced herself to focus on daily chores. She had John Kimble to thank for planting the idea that persisted in spinning impossible daydreams. Had he known that morning before her departure that his suggestion would erode her determination to be content during the months Stani was away? Had he intentionally set these images in motion, hoping she would eventually succumb to temptation? Or was she the one who, against her better judgment, had seized on the possibility of such an impractical and utterly romantic adventure?

  Looking back, she wondered if John might even have invented the distraction that took Stani from the room for those few minutes. He said there was a call for Stani in his suite, that he would help Emily finish the last of her packing. Stani was no more than through the door before John had produced a copy of the itinerary for the tour, every stop, every hotel with addresses and phone numbers. He had underlined in red the stop in Berlin.

  “Just in case you wanted to surprise him. That’s the end of the first half. We go to London and join up with Milo after that.” When she’d answered with only a questioning look, John had gone on, “Silverman is meeting him there, some big Mendelssohn thing. With the maestro there too, it should be a good show.”

  She’d taken the bait. “Even if I wanted to surprise him, as you say, how would I ever manage to arrange such a thing? I don’t even have a passport, you know.”

  “Just send me a telegram. I’ll take care of everything, send you a plane ticket, put you up in the same hotel, all expenses paid, of course. But you will have to get the passport on your own.” She thought she detected relief in his eyes.

  Intrigued by the fantasy of such a thing, she decided to play along. “You can do all that? You wouldn’t have to go through Milo?�
��

  “Oh no, on tour, I have carte blanche. Milo can’t be bothered with day-to-day details. I’m the one responsible for seeing to Stani’s every need. Just like here, really, only in a different city every night or so. In his case, bodyguard is just a glorified title for valet, secretary, and mother rolled into one.” He grinned, and she realized that he actually thought he was making headway.

  “It’s a lovely idea, John, but completely out of the question. I could never do anything so daring. Germany is a long way from home.”

  “Not as far as you may think. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

  Stani had returned then, grumbling that the party had rung off before he reached the phone. “Who was it anyway, John?”

  “No idea. Sounded German, though.” Emily had been sure John winked at her before he turned away.

  After two days at home, she found herself at the post office, filling out a passport application. She would need one by September, she told herself, as the wife of a touring concert artist. Only practical to go ahead and get it now. She casually asked Myrtice how long it generally took, and promptly provided the required photograph. No rush, she assured the postmistress, but no reason to drag out the process either. And no, she said with a smile, she didn’t have any plans to travel any time soon. It was just something she’d been meaning to do, in the event she had the opportunity someday. She left the post office with the unsettling thought that the whole town would know that Emily Haynes had applied for a passport, and most likely, no one would be surprised.

  Her next stop was the parsonage, but when no answer greeted her repeated knock on the back door, she turned to the little stone church in search of either Pastor Mike or Sara. She found them both in the church office, Mike perched on a ladder attempting to access the highest shelves of his library, and Sara on her knees sorting Sunday School books into stacks on the floor around her. Emily had to laugh. “Looks like at least one of you could use some help!”